Adore: To Venerate Expectantly
by Saulie
Summary: He's sometimes heartless, but that's because she's keeping his heart until he wants it. A collection of prompted Misa vignettes. Assorted spoilers through the end of the series.
1. that little girl

Misa felt a pang of regret—just a little one—peering out the window of the car, watching a little girl with two braids and a blue dress hopping up and down in front of a storefront. Her manager was driving her to her next photo shoot.

At one point she had thought about having children—_if _she met the right guy, of course—beautiful children, a daughter, maybe? And she could teach her all the right things, and name her something pretty, Mari maybe, and if she had a boy she'd name him after her lover and whoever the child was could look up and see the beautiful two of them and she could say something like

_Your daddy and I are very happy together, and someday you'll be very happy, too!_

Someday—

She'd be a good mother, she really would have been, she was sure of it—

But parents didn't—always—stay, and she knew that, too.

And she wouldn't have the time.

Love, though. She would manage love absolutely and without question.

…Soon, she hoped.

She bit her lip.

She was going to help Kira.

Her eyes in the mirror and the camera lens were still that deep, gorgeous blue despite the fact that they weren't really hers anymore.


	2. coffee

She sits with her legs crossed and her elbows resting lightly on the table and leans in a little, sniffing the red flowers. Kind of tacky decoration, but they're—oh they don't have any scent, though, they aren't real. Plastic. Hmph. She got flowers when she was modeling and when she was acting, too, but now she only gets them from the odd fan who didn't listen when she had that press conference. _I'm quitting the business, _that was clear, right? Doesn't anyone _listen _anymore? Now when she gets flowers she throws them out or makes someone else do it for her, because she _does not want them, _people shouldn't—shouldn't—

_He _brought her _roses, _once. A dozen roses. That was it.

(she had to tell him six times but that was okay six was her lucky number)

She has the petals somewhere. With all the other things.

They don't smell very nice anymore, but they at least smell like _something. _

Misa wrinkles her nose.

"Miss?"

"What? Oh, sorry." Giggling at the edges of her voice, bubbly like champagne—the good kind, the kind they have at weddings. "Yes?"

"Did you want anything else?"

She starts to tell the waitress no, but than changes her mind. "I'd like another coffee," she says.

"Right away, miss. Thank you."

They teach waitresses to disappear quickly as soon as they aren't needed.

_Misa worked as a waitress once! But she was really bad at it. She would always talk too much to the customers, and the manager got soooo angry—Misa brought in business, though, she did, all the guys wanted me to serve them their soda—Misa quit, though, to go and model. And other things, you know—_

She's drumming her fingers against the linoleum, nails making a soft _click—_she hasn't gotten a manicure in ages, has she? But she's wearing one of her favorite dresses: it has lace and little cloisonne beads dangling from the fringe and indigo lining, behind a pale, pale blue, and she realizes that it's the first time she's worn anything that wasn't black in—

Misa glances out the window.

Twelve hours ago—no, twelve days at least—twelve _months, _that's it. That's how long it's been.

(a rose for each month, _no one ever visits but Misa but she remembers_)

(twelve is two times six)

Twelve is a good number; twelve's midnight.

Distracted, she stands to see further into the street—

and suddenly feels something hot and stinging.

"—oh, I'm sorry, miss! I'm so sorry! You stood up and I didn't notice, I was bringing your coffee, I—"

(Misa might have done something like this once)

The stain is spreading rapidly across the silk, brown and earthy and unpleasant.

"I can get you some napkins or—"

_It isn't any good, that's never going to come out. _

The moment Misa realizes she doesn't care is the moment she makes her decision.


	3. and when it ends

When Misa shot her first TV commercial she did it with everything she had, because her agent said she had _talent _and she figured it'd be wrong not to give every inch of that talent to the public. They deserved someone pretty at the end of the day. All those mediocre faces! Bored and tired and kind of overweight, all pinched and middle-aged, bathed in the unflattering glow of the television screen, lit up for _just a second _by what the press called her 'brilliant smile'. Yay! _Misa definitely needs to do this! _

She smiled, brilliantly, and offered the camera a wink. "'Cause MisaMisa asked you…?"

"Cut!"

--ugh, that man's voice was so loud and annoying…

"That's a wrap! Great! Alright, what next…?"

Misa turned to her agent, confused. "That's it?"

"Yes, Misa-chan." He wasn't going to sleep with her, really. He thought he was going to, but he was just going to have to forget about that, because Misa was saving herself for someone special. He did have a decent sort of grin, though. Cute, in a puppy-dog kind of way. "That's the end of the commercial. Now they're going to shoot a different one."

"…after all that?" She pouted, half to watch him blush. "What a pain! It seems so—" –but how was she to explain to this idiot? How it was tactless, and unromantic, and sorely disappointing—just some annoying guy yelling 'Cut' to end something like that?

"Don't worry, Misa-chan. In the commercial, the ending's the best part. The viewers just get left with that brilliant smile of yours." …Yeah, the grin was better when it got shy like that. "Everyone'll love it."

"Okay," said Misa happily. "Sounds good."

…_They get a smile, and I get a Cut! _

…Well, no one ever said famous would be easy.


	4. staring contest

Light's beautiful eyes are fixed on the computer monitor and Misa is watching him, lounging on the couch. He looks good like that (always), Misa has to admit. He's so _intense. _He has _focus. _You can tell that he's thinking at the speed of his name, making a hundred connections and brilliant plans in seconds—always ready for anything, always in control.

What's that he's looking at—_ooh, he had better not be e-mailing that little bitch Takada!—_no, no, it looks like the news again. Light is always in the news, but no one ever knows it's him. Misa wonders what that must be like—she's in the news sometimes, but it's always "MisaMisa this, MisaMisa that, Misa Amane announces release of new movie in the fall." She gets _recognition, _although it's not like she cares about _them. _If she could—

--she wishes that Light would look at _her _sometime.

Give her as much attention as…

…He's staring at the computer and she's staring at him. She has _shinigami _eyes, though. She's _good _at looking at things. Maybe not seeing, but looking, looking she can do—she can concentrate on what she loves most; isn't that what she's been doing this whole time? Right? Hasn't she been doing okay on that?

She aims her eyes at the back of Light's neck as it slopes down to his shoulders, willing her glance to touch that small space of bare skin.


	5. dancing unnoticed

She's not supposed to open the windows when she's at _this _hotel—all the _other _hotels she can do everything she wants, but here with Light-kun and Ryuuzaki-who's-weird and Matsui and all those police she's supposed to be very very careful.

And she _is. _

Really.

Most of the time.

She ordered room service a few minutes ago, grapefruit juice and a salad and a slice of apple pie. She isn't sure why she ordered that last.

That's what she's wondering about when she catches the music.

Oooh, it's been so _long _since Misa heard any music!

So she just _cracks _the window open and feels the air come in (city air) and hears the sound of some pop singer, maybe Namie Amuro, somebody, voice rising above a throbbing bass line. …oh, _yes. _Oh, that is so _it. _She's never danced in any commercials or anything, but she likes it, Misa really does—

--she's dancing, around the bed and on it and into the mirror on the dresser, she dances by the door and by the window and with the sweeping curtains.

_wanna hold you right now_

_i wanna touch you right now_

_wanna kiss you, cling to you_

_love you down all night, aha_

"Room service!"

Misa flounces in her black lacy skirt to the door, face flushed. "Hello! Yes! Thank you very much! Misa is very thirsty!" She downs the grapefruit juice in seconds and exhales in satisfaction, flopping down on the bed. That was fun! That was really fun!

…Six hours later she realizes with horror that Light wasn't watching and she didn't even care.

_Misa is so horrible! Misa should think of him first! _

…She stays up until one lying back and staring at the ceiling, trying to picture Light dancing, but it just doesn't happen.


	6. victory

(…hey look. XD I didn't forget about this! I still write random Misa drabbles! just...not as frequently. Maybe this one's wishful thinking, but I like Misa erring towards being more human & stuff… )

Yagami Light and Amane Misa make up a very perfect picture—it's really impressive, you know. Misa'd be overjoyed if she could see it from a distance. When Light comes out and tells her _it's done, _tells her that _together _they'll create that new world he loves so much she fills her eyes with shining elation that's—that's genuine, of course. Because he's looking at her. He's looking at _her, _and she…oh, this is what she wanted more than anything. She loves Light when he's triumphant more than anything, because he holds that wonderful, oh, how should she say it, he's really really _godlike _and really really _human _at the same time and it's—amazing.

He's going to kiss her soon.

But she feels taut, momentary. Because it is never this simple. They may be looking for perfection but they haven't found it yet:

she has to know shamefully in her heart that he has not found it in her, he can't have, because standing here looking into her lover's eyes she knows in between the shocks of dizzying pleasure some sickness she can't quite seem to shake off, like she's filming a commercial where she's got to look blissful but she's worried and tired and wrong. The pleasure and the sickness are mixing too much.

She's just, um.

Thinking too much.

Feeling too much?

Here, and, and _now, _and—

She's smiling.

That's good, anyway.

It's only a sliver of Misa that's glancing away at a white wall eyeing its empty spaces for lack of anything else to look at. Empty. Spaces. Yes. There's a sudden shiver crawling underneath her skin making her hair stand on end, still. A scratchy feeling in her throat. She wants to blink, but isn't sure she can. She has to hold onto this image and secure it. It's the image she wants to remember later, and she wants to forget everything else—how she didn't feel like she'd won anything at all.


End file.
